


Bitten

by TheRavenintheMoon



Series: Long Lost Souls [8]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Duskhaven, Gen, Gilneas, Warlock - Freeform, momentary identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRavenintheMoon/pseuds/TheRavenintheMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A newly awakened worgen searches for her place. This--whatever this curse was--had never been part of the plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitten

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I probably own nothing, except maybe my characters. I know that Blizzard, however, owns a small chunk of my soul...
> 
> The opening quote is from Godfrey's quest text immediately following the cut-scene in the worgen start zone.

**_Bitten_ **

**_Merlayne_ **

_You so much as try anything funny, and you’ll get a bullet between the eyes…_  

Lord Godfrey’s words echoed in Merlayne’s head. She pushed past him roughly, trying to walk steadily on legs that were shaped entirely wrong, threatening to pitch her forward onto all fours. Gritting her—no way around it, really—fangs, she concentrated on not falling flat on her face in plain sight of several watchmen and the hateful Godfrey. Oh, his words made her blood boil. Didn’t he know who she was? _He_ should be bowing and scraping to _her_ …

She walked too far, past the building that housed the alchemist, Aranas, and turned into an ally. Safely out of sight, she leaned heavily against the wall, regaining her balance. Her anger slowly seeped into the cool air around her, to be replaced with doubt. Lolloping and furry had never been part of the plan. She was a warlock, damn it; she’d sold her soul for the secrets of the void and she was meant to be in control. This—whatever _this_ was—should never have happened to her… She glanced around. Where was that blasted imp anyway? That would have shown them…

Closing her eyes, standing as straight as she could, she began to weave the intricate summoning that kept the demon, unruly and malicious by nature, under her control. For a moment, she wondered if she even had the power to call it after all this time, in this strange shape. When she opened her eyes, she was relieved to see that the imp was beside her, hopping from foot to foot and glaring at her balefully. Merlayne was careful to keep her relief to herself—it would be disastrous, in this new, untested form, to show weakness before her minion. Beckoning peremptorily to the imp, she found that she had regained the confidence to stalk into Aranas’s building.

With a cultivated patience that hid her disdain, Merlayne bore the greetings, orders, and explanations that came with this ‘reunion.’ She was grateful when she could finally get away from both the smothering sympathy of those who called her friend and the suspicious stares of the watchmen. The stares unnerved her; she was used to people fearing her power (or simply the imp, though she would never admit that), but at the moment, she felt anything but powerful.

The crate she found easily. It was smashed to bits, a slain watchman the only evidence that there was something wrong. Her long ears perked of their own accord, catching the sound of creaking ships on the wind, and—a moment before the imp chattered a warning—stealthy footfalls behind her. She whirled, fangs bared, and instinctively half-blocked what should have been a fatal stab with a clawed hand. Automatically, flames flared in her hands, setting the unfortunate Forsaken scout on fire. The scout began to wildly stab, but Merlayne had found her balance, the familiarity of battle recalling all her old skill. The imp drew the scout’s attention with a fireball to the face, and Merlayne finished the fight with a potent shadow bolt.

Quickly, she headed back to the village. Civic duty and all that, she thought. She ought to warn the guards. She still needed that potion from Aranas. More than that, though, she wanted a fight. Her old confidence was swollen with the quick kill, the smell of sulfur and shadows once again clinging to her. She appreciated the scent better now, with her keener nose. As she joined the battle, she found that there was more to this shape than sharper senses, and quicker instincts. Strong muscles flexed with an easy, graceful motion as she lunged forward, finding her stride, her claws blocking and swiping, dealing more damage than her hands or a simple staff could. Power rippled under her fur as flame and shadow tore into her enemies. She reveled in the smell of smoke and the sound of battle.

Merlayne knew in that moment that she had been wrong to doubt. This— _this_ was so much better than her fragile human skin. She suppressed a triumphant howl, not now, not yet, with the battle only half won, and surged forward to prove this new-found power in the greatest test of all—the battle to survive.


End file.
